It’s been ages since I’ve thought about what I don’t have.
A hook. A chain. Rope.
You’re only as good as what you’ve got. Or something like that.
-
Another day successfully down, even though it isn’t night, yet. Two guys mauled by a bear, two guys shot, and one guy poisoned.
Now that the danger is out of the way, I have time to really look around. Other than knowing it was a huge complex, and we were currently in Boston Store, I didn’t have much time before to access the situation. Sure, there are broken shelves, but I was hiding under my cardboard box, scared out of my mind.
I look around the store and sigh. What wouldn’t I do for a hook attached to the ceiling? A hook attached to the wall? A hook? And I don’t have a knife, either. There’s always a hook around – or something that acts like a hook.
“Well, I don’t have a needle, thread, or place to dry his skin out.” I look over at Winnie, still playing with Kid. I need to work on accidently saying things out loud. But after so many years of just me and my bear, it’s habit to talk out loud.
Alright. So no needle, thread, knife, hook, chain, or rope.
I clear away rubble and try to make a clean work-area. I shove broken, splintered wood into my backpack; not just to cook with, but for our campfire later tonight. Mercury gave me his can of worms. I feel bad, dumping the worms out (What if we want to go fishing?), but do so anyway. Crude. I grab an old-but-clean sock from my backpack and gently wipe the can out so there is no more essence of worm left.
Before I start, I look around. Mercury’s eating a bag of chips. Virgil’s doing something to a computer, and it’s making a steady click-click-click. Kid and Winnie are still playing. Good.
Normally I’d skin it by cutting up the back of the legs, hanging it, and peeling the skin off in a series of well-placed tugs. That would save the fur. But I have nowhere to dry it and nothing to sew it with. One of us could use the fur. If I had a needle and thread. I sigh.
I pull the dog closer and find an entry and exit would, blood still oozing from the wounds. Good – it’s a fresh kill.
Bye, tail. I use the borrowed trench spike and chop it off. What a waste. All that fur –
I sigh. Enough about the fur, already. I cut down the leg, anyway, and around the ankle. Then I grab the foot in my left hand and the fur in my right hand and tug. Slowly, the fur comes off. It’s be so much easier if I could hand it from something… I repeat the process on the left leg.
I cut a line from the chin to the stomach. “What a waste, what a waste, what a waste!”
I look around again. I don’t care that I’m talking to myself – and Winnie never cares – but I don’t want anyone to think I’m weirder than I already am.
It’s too hard, when I have no way to hang the dog, to peel the skin off, so I slice as delicately as I can between the fur and meat. Even so, I still make a couple slips and the bulky trench spike cuts through the fur.
“Good,” I say to it, bitter, “I hate sewing, anyway.”
On to the meat! Down the back-bone… I never was a liver-girl. For every strip I cut, I cut it into four or five smaller pieces, so they could fit in the can.
Over the gentle slicing of the dog, I can hear something strange. I pause and glance back. Kid is no longer playing with Winnie; now he’s doing whatever Virgil was, only his click-click-click is faster.
Screw whatever they’re doing. It’s me, my dog, and my ever-filling can of dog meat.
Winnie snorts. “What? You were playing with Kid for a couple hours! You expect me to just leave the dog meat sitting here? You know it’s my favorite!”
She snorts again. “If I give you once piece of meat, you’re going to want another.” She sits there, looking at me. “It’s raw.” Right. And like Gary wasn’t. “Fine.” I toss her a piece of dog. She catches it in her mouth and lands with a thump. “Now go keep kid entertained again. I think he’s bugging Virgil.”
And I think he was. Kid was walking away from the computer with something in his hand. Whatever it was, Virgil was eyeing it with obvious want. I sigh. I just want to cut up my dog.
Who ever thought a condom would come to good use? I open the package and blow it up. A balloon, my dad called it. When it’s inflated a good bit, I tie the end off with a shoelace.
“Hey, Kid.” He looks over at me with big, bright green eyes. “I’ll give you this cool balloon-” I bounce it on the make-shift string a few times “-if you’ll let me see that thing.” I don’t know how, but I can tell he really wants the balloon – he just wants the thing more. “Oh well.” I walk off a little way and continue to play with the balloon.
“Hey, Kid.” I look over at Mercury, munching away on another chip. “How about if I give you a chip now, and after you give that thing to Virgil.”
Food was the ticket and Kid readily agreed. Then he came over to me. “Can I still have the balloon?”
“You gave Virgil what he wanted, so sure!”
I didn’t want it, anyway. Balloons were between me and my dad, not Kid and I. Kid makes his way back to Winnie and, damn, it’s a bad idea to let them get so close. I’m tagging along because… why? It’s supposed to be me and my bear.
Essence of Worm
A knife. A needle. Thread.
It’s been ages since I’ve thought about what I don’t have.
A hook. A chain. Rope.
You’re only as good as what you’ve got. Or something like that.
-
Another day successfully down, even though it isn’t night, yet. Two guys mauled by a bear, two guys shot, and one guy poisoned.
Now that the danger is out of the way, I have time to really look around. Other than knowing it was a huge complex, and we were currently in Boston Store, I didn’t have much time before to access the situation. Sure, there are broken shelves, but I was hiding under my cardboard box, scared out of my mind.
I look around the store and sigh. What wouldn’t I do for a hook attached to the ceiling? A hook attached to the wall? A hook? And I don’t have a knife, either. There’s always a hook around – or something that acts like a hook.
“Well, I don’t have a needle, thread, or place to dry his skin out.” I look over at Winnie, still playing with Kid. I need to work on accidently saying things out loud. But after so many years of just me and my bear, it’s habit to talk out loud.
Alright. So no needle, thread, knife, hook, chain, or rope.
“What do I have?”
A can of worms.
I clear away rubble and try to make a clean work-area. I shove broken, splintered wood into my backpack; not just to cook with, but for our campfire later tonight. Mercury gave me his can of worms. I feel bad, dumping the worms out (What if we want to go fishing?), but do so anyway. Crude. I grab an old-but-clean sock from my backpack and gently wipe the can out so there is no more essence of worm left.
A borrowed trench spike.
Before I start, I look around. Mercury’s eating a bag of chips. Virgil’s doing something to a computer, and it’s making a steady click-click-click. Kid and Winnie are still playing. Good.
A dog.
Normally I’d skin it by cutting up the back of the legs, hanging it, and peeling the skin off in a series of well-placed tugs. That would save the fur. But I have nowhere to dry it and nothing to sew it with. One of us could use the fur. If I had a needle and thread. I sigh.
I pull the dog closer and find an entry and exit would, blood still oozing from the wounds. Good – it’s a fresh kill.
Bye, tail. I use the borrowed trench spike and chop it off. What a waste. All that fur –
I sigh. Enough about the fur, already. I cut down the leg, anyway, and around the ankle. Then I grab the foot in my left hand and the fur in my right hand and tug. Slowly, the fur comes off. It’s be so much easier if I could hand it from something… I repeat the process on the left leg.
I cut a line from the chin to the stomach. “What a waste, what a waste, what a waste!”
I look around again. I don’t care that I’m talking to myself – and Winnie never cares – but I don’t want anyone to think I’m weirder than I already am.
It’s too hard, when I have no way to hang the dog, to peel the skin off, so I slice as delicately as I can between the fur and meat. Even so, I still make a couple slips and the bulky trench spike cuts through the fur.
“Good,” I say to it, bitter, “I hate sewing, anyway.”
On to the meat! Down the back-bone… I never was a liver-girl. For every strip I cut, I cut it into four or five smaller pieces, so they could fit in the can.
Over the gentle slicing of the dog, I can hear something strange. I pause and glance back. Kid is no longer playing with Winnie; now he’s doing whatever Virgil was, only his click-click-click is faster.
Screw whatever they’re doing. It’s me, my dog, and my ever-filling can of dog meat.
Winnie snorts. “What? You were playing with Kid for a couple hours! You expect me to just leave the dog meat sitting here? You know it’s my favorite!”
She snorts again. “If I give you once piece of meat, you’re going to want another.” She sits there, looking at me. “It’s raw.” Right. And like Gary wasn’t. “Fine.” I toss her a piece of dog. She catches it in her mouth and lands with a thump. “Now go keep kid entertained again. I think he’s bugging Virgil.”
And I think he was. Kid was walking away from the computer with something in his hand. Whatever it was, Virgil was eyeing it with obvious want. I sigh. I just want to cut up my dog.
Who ever thought a condom would come to good use? I open the package and blow it up. A balloon, my dad called it. When it’s inflated a good bit, I tie the end off with a shoelace.
“Hey, Kid.” He looks over at me with big, bright green eyes. “I’ll give you this cool balloon-” I bounce it on the make-shift string a few times “-if you’ll let me see that thing.” I don’t know how, but I can tell he really wants the balloon – he just wants the thing more. “Oh well.” I walk off a little way and continue to play with the balloon.
“Hey, Kid.” I look over at Mercury, munching away on another chip. “How about if I give you a chip now, and after you give that thing to Virgil.”
Food was the ticket and Kid readily agreed. Then he came over to me. “Can I still have the balloon?”
“You gave Virgil what he wanted, so sure!”
I didn’t want it, anyway. Balloons were between me and my dad, not Kid and I. Kid makes his way back to Winnie and, damn, it’s a bad idea to let them get so close. I’m tagging along because… why? It’s supposed to be me and my bear.
But Winnie’s happy.
And I haven’t been this happy since my dad died…